Draco's Fate
by rith
Summary: After failing to complete his mission in Book Six, Draco must face the Dark Lord and his wrath. Please RR.
1. Chapter 1

I state that I do not own any Harry Potter characters, though this plot is my own. Nagini in human form is also mine, though the snake belongs to the Dark Lord, and both of them belong to J.K. Rowling. Hope you enjoy!  
+ Draco was dreading this meeting. The directive had been fulfilled, but not by him. Snape had had to step in. He would be the Dark Lord's favorite, prized beyond all others. And Draco would be murdered.  
It had been the threat from the start; that if he didn't complete the task he was assigned, he would be killed. Quite simple, really.  
But even in his fear, Draco felt the injustice of it all. Hadn't he completed a task that had been thought impossible? He had smuggled the Death Eaters into Hogwarts? Was this to be forgotten? And Dumbledore WAS dead, no matter who raised the wand in the end.  
He shivered. The Dark Lord had made this forest Unplottable, and surrounded it with his enchantments, but had done nothing to warm the place. The Death Eaters were gathered around a bonfire, which flickered strangely and threw shadows onto their masked faces.  
They were still recuperating from the Hogwarts battle. Many of the people surrounding the flames bore just-healed scars and burns, marks of the recent struggle. But their eyes blazed with something like triumph. Their enemy's leader had fallen.  
Draco drew a long, steadying breath. He had to face his Master in the end.  
He began to move, slowly but purposefully, to the dark clearing whence Snape had just emerged. At its edge he stopped, hearing the Dark Lord's voice. He was speaking to someone. Draco shouldn't interrupt, and certainly shouldn't listen, and yet.  
"What do you think, Nagini"  
His Master spoke in English, not Parseltongue, which surprised Draco. He also spoke as though he expected an answer. To Draco's surprise, he received one. "I think nothing, my lord"  
The voice was feminine, soft and whispery. A shiver ran up Draco's spine.  
"You hear all, and yet have no opinion? This I cannot believe"  
The Dark Lord's voice sounded almost...amused.  
"What can I say? I am merely a servant, just as your Death Eaters are servants. I am flattered that you think highly enough of my opinion to ask it of me, but really, will it matter in the end"  
Draco was shocked. How could a servant of the Dark Lord refuse him anything? He expected green light to illuminate the clearing at any moment, but instead, the Dark Lord simply spoke again.  
"You mean more to me than you can know, Nagini. Were it not for you, I could not have subsisted in Albania, less than spirit, staving off death. Were it not for you, I'd have been missing a key ingredient in the formation of my temporary body. And were it not for you, I would not have my soul split into such a magically powerful number. As Secret Keeper for one seventh of your master's soul, I value you more than any other Death Eater"  
Draco was breathing fast. He was not supposed to have this information. His Master would see it in him, and be furious beyond measure. And yet he stood rooted to the spot as this secret conversation continued.  
"And so, Nagini, it is for these reasons that I ask your opinion"  
"Well my lord," came the almost hiss-like tones of the Dark Lord's companion, "I think that, perhaps, given the success of the mission, you ought to show Lucius' son your mercy. He has shown to be a loyal servant, if a bit rash in some respects"  
Draco thought of the necklace and the mead and his face burned.  
"He will be a fine addition to your army"  
"And what of his unwillingness to kill"  
Draco swallowed hard.  
"I believe," said the lady calmly, "that his failure in this mission was due to Dumbledore's trickery. He has been the downfall of many older, wiser Death Eaters. Now that he is gone, Draco can become acclimatized to our work without the old man's interference"  
Draco was grateful for this unknown source's defense, but he was also confused. Who was she? The only Nagini he knew of was.  
"I will take your views into consideration, as always," said the high-pitched voice Draco so feared. "Now change back. Your identity is hidden, even from those servants who are in my inner circle, and I deeply desire to keep it that way"  
He saw a light shimmer and fade within the clearing. Then the Dark Lord spoke in Parseltongue, and his snake went gliding away into the night.  
After a moment, the Dark Lord spoke again.  
"I know you're there, Draco," he said. Draco's bones froze. "Show yourself.." 


	2. Chapter 2

"I know how much you heard," the Dark Lord began as Draco came nearer. Draco bit his tongue till it bled. Of course he wasn't given a chance to defend himself, to mutter any of the half-formed excuses in his brain--his Master would see right through them. Aunt Bellatrix had taught him some Occulmancy, but not enough.  
"My question," he continued, his slit-pupiled eyes boring into Draco, "is what you plan to do with the information you have gathered"  
Draco stared. He was shocked into speech. "What"  
"I am asking," his Master's voice was somewhat impatient, and it frightened Draco still further to think what the Dark Lord was capable of when impatient, "who you plan to tell"  
When Draco still looked blank, the Dark Lord spoke again, advancing upon Draco menacingly as he did. "I have hidden the fact that Nagini's an Animagus for years. Even Dumbledore, who, I have no doubt, studied my life intently, could not have known her true identity. This information is most valuable. To whom are you going to sell it"  
And Draco understood. His loyalty was being tested. "No one, my Lord"  
The Dark Lord smiled. It was horrible to behold. "You know, I assume, of my power at Legilmancy"  
Draco nodded, unable to speak. About what had he lied?  
"Then tell me truthfully, for I will know if you lie: was Nagini correct about your prowess as a Death Eater"  
Draco was about to say of course when he caught himself. Could he really kill? Dumbledore didn't think so. But what did Dumbledore know?  
He knew Draco.  
"I...I'm not sure, my Lord"  
He feared his Master's wrath, and was surprised when the Dark Lord merely looked satisfied.  
"An honest answer," he proclaimed. "I will have to test your mettle in the field"

Snape's insides twisted with guilt, remorse, and the knowledge that there had been no other option.  
Dumbledore had known what would be asked of Draco, and he had prepared by telling Snape to make the Vow. Snape had done so readily, assuming that his mentor knew a way OUT of the Vow.  
Snape had pleaded. He had gotten angry, nearly wept, but Dumbledore remained firm. It seemed that he wanted to make sure that his death was planned, staged; Snape was merely there to facilitate the abomination.  
He couldn't understand why Dumbledore valued Snape's life over his own. Dumbledore was so important to the Order, and if he ended up being the one to fulfill the Dark Lord's hateful task (and he knew he would), he would be vilified by the Order, and would not be their agent anymore.  
He made these arguments to Dumbledore, all to know avail.  
He might not have gone through with it. Standing there over him, he wanted nothing more than to jump over the edge and hope that his impact was fatal.  
But Dumbledore had begged. And with utter revulsion, Snape did what he had sworn he'd do.  
That had been bad enough. But then Potter had the gall to call him a coward. Hadn't he just had to kill the man he admired most? Hadn't he just been forced to destroy the one person who had brought him back from the depths of darkness, the one who had shown him the light? It was too much! Potter could never have done it, and yet he had the nerve, the audacity, to call him a coward.  
And yet, as he sat with his head in his hands, away from the fire and the Death Eaters laughing and showing off battle scars, he wondered if maybe Potter was right. Killing Dumbledore had saved his own life, after all. Perhaps... 


	3. Chapter 3

The Dark Lord sent Draco to fetch Snape to him once more. "We have business to discuss," he said succinctly, even though Draco had not said aloud that he wondered what Snape was needed for. "And that is all you ever need know"  
The mere tone of his voice was frightening.

Snape was summoned to the Dark Lord's presence once more by Draco, who could not, it seemed, look him in the eye.  
"I have already informed you," he began, "of how pleased I am with the general outcome of the mission. However, I find I am unable to think of a suitable reward, and this is unacceptable, for as you well know," his horrible snake face spread wider into what one could assume was a sinister smile, "Lord Voldemort always rewards his helpers"  
"The greatest reward is to serve you, my Lord"  
"A noble answer," the Dark Lord said, "but not entirely to be believed, I'm afraid. All men have dreams, ambitions. Needs"  
He was beginning to look rather more menacing, though the smile remained.  
Snape thought hard. He wanted nothing the Dark Lord was prepared to readily offer, and he had no desire to mangle his form with silver limbs, powerful though they may be. But if he didn't want to be mangled period, he had to think of something. Something that not likely to arouse suspicion. Something a Death Eater would dream of.  
"Well, Master, I have always dreamed of working as a sort of general for you. Perhaps being given a small legion of lower-level Death Eaters to command, as per your wishes, of course"  
The Dark Lord's smile broadened. His expression remained enigmatic, however, so Snape could not tell if he found this request amusing or satisfying.  
"We shall see"

After Snape had left, Voldemort was once more alone in the clearing. He called in Parseltongue to Nagini, and she appeared, slithering lithely along the forest floor.  
"Show your form," the Dark Lord hissed.  
The snake changed and stretched, and soon a woman stood before Lord Voldemort. She had a small nose, pointed in shape but rounded at the tip. It was not as flat as one might have expected from a snake-lady, but there was something about the way the sharpness of the point was dulled into a curve that brought to mind the shape of a snake's face. Her brown hair was wild and tangly like the thick branches of the underbrush. Her eyes were hazel, evocative of the forest. She was quite pale, and there was a strange greenish undertone to her skin quite different from that which comes to people in ill health. She was slender and curvy, her shape reminiscent of a snake's undulating movement and thin body.  
Her appearance made one wonder if perhaps she'd been a snake first and had become some sort of Homomagus. But such a thing was impossible... 


	4. Chapter 4

"You have served me many years"  
"Yes"  
"Remained loyal to me when most thought I was dead or broken beyond repair"  
"Yes"  
"Sustained me in my weakness"  
"Yes"  
"And now that I am reaching again towards the heights to which I rose so many years ago, I must confess that I owe much of my success to you"  
"My Lord is too kind"  
The Dark Lord laughed, a high, piercing laugh. "That I am not, and well do you know it. I am merely fair. However, I am also puzzled"  
"About what, my Lord"  
"It is obvious that one decides to follow me for a reason. Most desire the power they can gain by becoming a Death Eater. Others crave violence and pain and want to find a worthy reason to inflict it. Some groups of magical creatures lust after the freedoms I promise them that the Ministry will not grant them. And others fear what would become of them and their families if they refused me"  
Here he turned to Nagini, his eyes questioning. "But you desire neither power, nor violence. You do not fear me, you have no family, and you ask not for freedom. What, then, are your reasons"  
"Can you not extract your answer from me"  
"You are far too skilled at Occulmancy, my dear, else I would already have done so"  
Nagini's smiled, a slow, icy smile that could chill a man to the bone. But the Dark Lord was no man.  
"I follow you, my Lord, simply because I find that I have nothing more pressing to do"

Draco did not sleep well. Over and over he saw the scene replayed in his mind: up the stairs, wand at the ready, bursting through the door. Then willing himself to do it, just do it, be like father, father, father. Time pressing him from all sides. Then the Death Eaters after him, more pressure, pressure, pressure, but he just couldn't do it, he was a coward. And Snape, wand out, doesn't bat an eye. Green light. And Dumbledore, slumping, sinking against the wall. Gone.  
And it wasn't even over then, because that's when the running began. Faster, harder, duck and dodge. He barely remembered how he made it out. All he knew was that he owed his safety to Snape, and he couldn't forgive him for that. 


	5. Chapter 5

The Dark Lord cared not for riddles. Nagini's response, therefore, simply angered him. Were she anyone else, the clearing would have glowed green at that moment. But she was someone special, someone who possessed something too valuable to risk.  
"Is that to be your only answer? Am I now to suspect your every move because you refuse to tell me your motives"  
"Trust me, my Lord," Nagini said cooly, "When it is needful, my motives will become apparent"  
"Who's to be the judge of when it's 'needful"  
"Must you even ask"

Draco was becoming steadily more angry with Snape. He had made it clear that he didn't want anything to do with his former Professor, and yet the man insisted on hovering around him, his eyes ever watchful. Draco felt that Snape was just waiting for him to screw up again. Then Snape could tell the Dark Lord how unfit he was, how he was a disgrace to the name of Malfoy. Draco already knew all of this, and he dreaded the moment when the Dark Lord found out. 


	6. Chapter 6

Draco was in the middle of a bout of self-pity when he felt it: a smooth caress along his ankle.  
Nagini was twining herself about Draco's legs. Draco froze in fear. I was well known that Nagini was a poisonous snake. Had the Dark Lord sent her to kill him?  
Well, Draco thought, at least it will all be over soon. One little bite is all.  
But then he realized that this way of dying would be much longer, more drawn out, more painful, than Avada Kedavra. And he began to shake.  
Suddenly the snake began to lengthen and morph. Soon, there was no longer a snake sitting on top of him, but a woman. She appeared young in form, but...there was something about her eyes.  
"Relax, little boy," she said in a low hiss. "I'm not going to hurt you"

The Dark Lord stood alone in the clearing, sifting through his thoughts. He refused to use a Pensieve on principle; the idea that there was even a remote chance that someone could access his thoughts did not work for him.  
He was thinking of Nagini. The thought of her had sustained him when he was ripped from his body; his mind had dwelled on her, and she had found him.  
Many thought that he had met Nagini when in the wilds of Albania, but they were wrong; even his closest Death Eaters did not know how long she had been his companion, for when he'd first begun his quest for dominion, so many years ago, he had kept Nagini, even in her snake form, a secret.  
When he had met with Dumbledore for that teaching position, it was not Dumbledore's knowledge of the name his minions that had discomfited him; no, what had concerned him was the horrible questions that this raised: if the old man knew of the Death Eaters, what else did he know about? Did he know of Nagini, the one ace that the Dark Lord would always have up his sleeve?  
After careful study, however, he'd become fairly certain that Dumbledore did not know of Nagini or when they'd met.  
That day was still fresh in Voldemort's mind:  
It was soon after Dumbledore had left the orphanage, leaving a young Tom Riddle gasping with new knowledge. His mind boggled; he had known he'd had power, known he was special, but now that he knew the true nature of his magic, he could use his powers to their full extent.  
As per Dumbledore's instructions, he visited Diagon Alley, and spent hours poring over the shelves in Flourish and Blotts. He purchased a wand with the money he'd been given out of the Hogwarts fund, and enjoyed tormenting the other children in relative ease with its help.  
But he wanted to do something big and unforgettable, even back then. He hadn't formed his plans to be Lord Voldemort yet, and back then he did not have much patience to speak of. So he decided to summon a daemon lord to do his bidding.  
Interestingly, it was in a book from a Muggle library that he found the method. It needed to be refined, of course, for it had been written by a Muggle scholar and philosopher, not by a wizard, but the principles were there and were accurate.  
He checked out the dusty tome and brought it back to his room under his cloak. Luckily the librarian no longer saw too well and didn't question the title, but Tom knew Mrs. Cole would if she saw it, so he was careful.  
That night, he snuck into the weedy little yard behind the orphanage to do the summoning.  
Tom had memorized the spell, and now spoke it, wand out, feeling more powerful with each word.  
The earth cracked open beneath his feet, and a column of flame and spitting sparks shot up. From it emerged the daemon lord.  
His skin was black and marked with gashes, the sort that never heal. They oozed thick red blood.  
He stood on muscly legs like those of an ass, and was as tall as the orphanage, with huge leathery wings and jet black horns. Poisonous snakes twined themselves around the creature's scaly, grotesque arms. He had ridges like a dragon and a long, whipping tail.  
Young Tom said his binding spell as the demon roared, and pointed his wand at it viciously. To his astonishment and horror, the spell bounced off the creature's hide to hit the side of the building behind Tom, showering him with broken concrete.  
They daemon's eyes narrowed as it observed Tom. "You think you could possibly control me?" He laughed, a terrible sound. "I am the Daemon Lord Death-Thief, and I bow to no one"  
The shadowy monster approached Tom menacingly. "Now that I am free," he growled, "I can dominate the entire world. And for your arrogance, little wizard, you will be the first victim of my new regime"  
Fire flew from the demon's mouth. Tom dodged it, but only just, and he was smart enough to know that it was only a matter of time before the creature destroyed him. And he'd never even gotten a chance to go to Hogwarts.  
The daemon lord's huge clawed foot came down on top of him. He screamed in pain.  
Tom looked up into the demon's shadowy face, determined to die with dignity, and saw one of the snakes uncoiling itself from the demon's arm. It fell to the ground and began to grow rapidly.  
Just as Tom was thinking that this was all he needed, the demon's minion to be growing, he saw that it had become a woman--or, at least, he supposed, something resembling a woman.  
The woman launched herself at the demon, bathed in silver light. The light flashed brighter than anything Tom had ever seen, and he was momentarily blinded; when his vision cleared, the deamon lord had vanished, the split in the ground was gone, the wall of the orphanage was repaired, even the pain he'd felt just moments before had subsided. All that remained of the incident was the woman, standing above him and holding out a hand to help him up.  
"Wha--who are you?" Tom asked, not taking the offered hand.  
"I am Nagini"  
Tom picked himself up, his eyes never leaving her. "What did you just do? Where's the daemon"  
"He will not bother you again"  
She was obviously selective about the questions she would answer. Tom knew that game.  
"Will Hogwarts expel me"  
"They'll never know"  
Tom eyed her suspiciously. "Why are you helping me"  
"Why not"  
Tom could not think of a satisfactory reason why not. However, he also couldn't think of a satisfactory reason why. He remained puzzled and wary.  
Nagini shrunk back into a snake at that point, and he distinctly heard her say, from that form, "You can understand me"  
It wasn't a question.  
She remained with him, and it didn't surprise the other children that he'd taken a snake for his pet. Tom remained suspicious of Nagini at first, but she helped him on many occasions, both in and out of school, and soon became his most trusted confidante. In fact, she was probably the only creature he had ever trusted. 


	7. Chapter 7

Hello, devoted readers (or reader, perhaps)! Sorry it's been a while; school's evil. Anyhoo, I've revamped the ENTIRE first part of the story, and written a lovely new chapter, going in a new direction. Go back and refresh thine memories with my newly-rewritten first chapters, then come on down here for chapter number 7!  
+ Harry could hardly stand it. After Bill's wedding (which, thanks to Fleur, had been very much a fluff and flowers affair), he, Ron, and Hermione had been bundled off to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. This had seemed practical, at first, because the trio would need information for their journey that only the Order could provide. It was hard, though, being in that house that positively screamed Sirius' name and to keep trying, desperately, not to think of Dumbledore.  
It was also hard to deal with how slowly the information was being doled. The Order was reluctant to let them go; Mrs. Weasley still wanted them in school, though she was in a minority. But, though the Order members acknowledged their right to hunt for Voldemort, they were unwilling to let them go, thinking them too young, too precious, to go.  
Worse yet, whenever information WAS being given to them, someone always interrupted; it might be Mad-Eye, swishing an Invisibility Cloak off his shoulders and giving Arthur a meaningful look; often it was Lupin, looking more tired than Harry could ever remember seeing him, needing to be bandaged up lovingly by Tonks; or it might be Kingsley Shacklebolt, grave and somewhat sad, needing to speak with Mundungus privately.  
One evening, somewhat to Harry's surprise, it was Professor McGonagall, bearing a package under her arm. Even more surprising, she signaled that it was Harry she wished to speak with.  
Harry rose from the meeting table and followed his former Professor into the hall.  
"I'm sorry that I haven't had a chance to get away," she began. "There's been so much work to do, getting ready for a new year without...well"  
Harry nodded.  
"Anyway," McGonagall continued, perhaps a little sharply, as though she were fighting tears, "Professor Dumbledore left something to you, and I felt that it needed to be delivered in person"  
She held the package she'd been carrying out to him.  
Harry took it, bewildered. What would Dumbledore have left him? His collection of chocolate frog cards? A vial of Fawke's tears? Gryffindor's sword?  
He realized that the box was not the right size for any of those things.  
"Well, go on," said McGonagall impatiently when he just stood there, staring at the box blankly, "open it"  
He did so, and as the wrapping came off, a familiar silver light began to peep through.  
It was the Pensieve. 


	8. Chapter 8

McGonagall left him to have a whispered conversation with a few choice Order members, then departed. Harry just stared at the Pensieve for a while before walking slowly, carefully, up to his room with it.  
He placed it gently on the bed and sat next to it. It would be much more useful, he thought, if he knew how to work it.  
Suddenly, a silvery, miniature Dumbledore rose out of the Pensieve and began to revolve. Its hand was shriveled; this memory must have been of him as he had most recently appeared.  
"Hello, Harry," the Dumbledore said. Harry jumped back. "Oh, do not be alarmed; I knew I would need to pass this on to you one day, but I never thought to take the time to tell you how to use it"  
Either Dumbledore's memory of himself could use Legilmency, or.  
"I am currently looking in a mirror," Dumbledore continued, "and I would first like to state that if I knew my hair had gotten this bad I'd have asked Professor Sprout to prune it ages ago"  
It was Dumbledore all right.  
"But let us leave aside matters of personal hygiene, and turn to the Pensieve. You know how to enter one, I assume.  
Harry vividly remembered accidentally falling through the ceiling of the Wizingamot, and smiled a little.  
"The incantation to exit the Pensieve can be said aloud or done silently; as you know, I prefer to cast my spells sans sound"  
Dumbledore's description was concise and useful, and he left pauses in his speech for Harry to practice. He couldn't quite get the hang of doing the incantation ("Ex Revisance") properly without speaking, but it seemed to work when he did it aloud.  
Dumbledore concluded by saying, "There are a few visions that I particularly want you to see; they have been sifted to the top for your convenience. Why did I not show them to you before? Well, mainly, I did not possess them until quite recently, and when I got a hold of them, we had other...projects that we needed to work on"  
Harry supposed Dumbledore was referring to when he'd extracted that Horcrux memory from Slughorn.  
"I hope that you find the next set of memories enlightening...mainly because they were so difficult to procure that I wish them to be appreciated! They were most difficult of all the memories you have seen for me to find, and I must say, they came as a bit of a shock. But they make sense, as you will see, and if you look closely, you might even see my source.  
"And so, Harry, I say farewell"  
With that, the revolving Dumbledore sank back into his own memory pool.

"Who are you?" Draco asked shakily.  
The creature--woman?--raised an eyebrow, and did not answer.  
"Are you an...an Animagus"  
She laughed, and Draco shuddered. It was almost as bad as hearing his Master laugh.  
"I nothing you could comprehend," she said cryptically.  
"What are you doing here? What do you want with me"  
"I am the Dark Lord's closest confidante," she replied, "and I have vouched for you"  
Draco swallowed, his throat dry. He managed, however, to say boldly, "So"  
A faint smile appeared on the woman's lips. "I'm sure you know by now that everyone has an ulterior motive to doing anything for anyone else"  
Draco's heart beat sped and he trembled. "What do you want from me"  
"Oh, nothing too elaborate," she said slyly. "Just kill Severus Snape"

The memory in which Harry found himself was of that same dingy bedroom in the orphanage that young Tom Riddle was forced to call home.  
The Tom in this memory must have been about fourteen. He was engrossed in a large tome that was bound in something that resembled dragon hide; the cover read, in faded gold letters, "The Purest of the Pure: the Superlative Sorcerers of Our Age"  
Riddle seemed frustrated with something, and Harry wondered what it might be; then he remembered that he thought his father the wizard, and must be angry at his inability to locate him in any wizarding genealogy. Sure enough, other books similar to the one he held were piled on the floor around him, all tossed there as though by exasperated hands.  
Suddenly, music began to sound; loud music with a dancing beat. Riddle's head snapped up irritably; his eyes shone with rage. He tossed the book aside and pulled out his wand.  
Harry watched, appalled, as Riddle strode to the window and took aim. Harry ran up behind him and looked out; just next to the orphanage was a cobblestone alley, and across the alley was a tall building in which, Harry assumed, were several flats. The window towards which Riddle aimed was rather above the level of his own window; merry light shone through it, and a record player was displayed prominently in its sill.  
Riddle had no time to curse the machine to pieces before a figure strode into view. It was a girl, perhaps eleven or twelve, with a button nose, a sprinkling of freckles, and a sweet smile. She was dancing to the music; her neat bun was losing its grasp on bits of hair as she bounced about the room.  
Riddle froze. Then his wand hand whipped out of sight.  
The girl caught sight of her neighbor on one of her trips past the window and stopped. She pulled the needle off the record and the music stopped.  
"Hello!" she called. "What's your name"  
Riddle shook himself slightly. "I'm Tim Riddle," he replied. "Who are you"  
"Freya Faber"  
Riddle raised an eyebrow. Harry hadn't the faintest idea why.  
Freya blushed. "My father's an archeologist. He was working on a site in Norway when I was born"  
Riddle seemed somewhat interested. He leaned forward. "Where did he work before coming here"  
"Well, a few weeks ago, we were in Egypt," she said. "Father was trying to restore a tomb that grave-robbers had hit"  
"Why'd you come here"  
"Well, I think it was prompted by my asking my mother what roses smell like"  
Riddle gave her another raised eyebrow.  
"I was reading Shakespeare, you see, and we hadn't any roses where we were. I'd been there since I was two, and I suppose I'd just forgotten. Well, mum went into a towering rage, and told father that she'd put up with this extended holiday long enough. He was to return home to London and teach again, or she would take me and leave without him"  
"Did he go"  
"Yes, but it was a very near thing"  
"Did he bring back any relics? Perhaps, ones that were cursed"  
Harry suddenly saw the nasty direction in which this was heading.  
Freya giggled. "You don't believe in curses, do you"  
Riddle's smile was not pleasant. "You didn't answer my question"  
"Yes, he's brought a few things. And everything in the tomb was supposedly cursed, but no one from the party's been hurt yet, so it can't have been a very good curse.  
"What does your father have of the artifacts"  
"Let's see...uhm...the pharaoh's staff, a jug of olive oil...he's going to send them to the British Museum as soon as he's finished his notes"  
"How long will that be"  
"A week maybe"  
"May I have a look at them before he sends them"  
She smiled. "Father loves it when people show interest in his work. Mum and I are a bit bored with it, frankly. Why don't you come 'round tomorrow at tea time? Mum makes wonderful scones"  
Riddle looked eager. Harry didn't think it was at the prospect of scones. "I'll be there"  
The memory ended there, so Harry cast his spell and exited.  
The thing that most puzzled him was that he truly could not find any source to this memory. Voldemort wouldn't have given it to Dumbledore, and Freya didn't know what had gone on in Riddle's room before their conversation. So whose memory was it? 


	9. Chapter 9

Hogwarts was not the same. Not nearly. And Ginny was not enjoying it at all anymore.  
There was no more Harry, which was hard enough; there was no more Dumbledore, which was awful. Everyone was watchful, fearful. Ginny would often twitch herself out of restless dreams, covered in sweat, listening for screams that did not sound.  
There were changes, major ones. Some of them reminded her of her first year; people were made to travel in groups, led everywhere by a teacher. No one was allowed out at night, and prefect patrollers took shifts to help guard the castle each night and, consequently, prevented any sneaking out to see Hagrid. Ginny was rather angry about this, because Hagrid needed to be seen; he seemed to have lost his way, often trailing off in the middle of lectures with sudden tears welling up in his huge eyes.  
What was ruining Hogwarts the most, however, was the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.  
There was a consensus that she was good; most people liked her. Ginny liked her too, but she would have preferred if she did not involve herself in school affairs. It was embarrassing to have your teacher give you a sweater after class and remind you to eat your vegetables.  
For, of course, the new Professor was Molly Weasley.  
Mrs. Weasley had had a motherly dilemma over the summer: should she make Ginny go back to school? Part of her motherly self wanted Ginny to continue her education; the other part wanted Ginny safe, and Mrs. Weasley couldn't have been sure that her daughter was safe at Hogwarts, not now that Dumbledore had passed on.  
Mrs. Weasley also began to become frustrated, watching Arthur, Bill, Charlie, and now even Fred and George risking their lives for the Order and not being able to contribute anything of her own. Now that the Prophecy no longer needed protection, she had nothing to do, no shifts to take. She'd finally asked her husband if there was any way she could take a more active role in the Order.  
"I'll see what I can do," had been his answer. It had taken several hush-hush meetings, and a few covert trips out of Grimmauld place, but soon Arthur had informed her of a position that needed filling. McGonagall gave her the details. It was perfect; being a professor at Hogwarts would allow Ginny to continue at school while affording her the protection Mrs. Weasley had so needed for her youngest.  
So Mrs. Weasley was now Professor Weasley, and Ginny had to endure having her Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher call her "sweetie"  
She wrote the twins for Skiving Snackboxes, but they sent her a set of Patented Daydream Charms instead, with a note saying that mum knew all about the Nosebleed Nougat and Fainting Fancies, so she'd be stupid to try it. Ginny sulked all that week, refusing to touch the twins' substitute, but after a particularly painful lesson, in which Mrs. Weasley not only called her "dear," but also called her up to the board against her will to have her recite the mnemonic device used when facing an unknown magical creature (SIP--Stupefy, Impediment Jinx, Patronus), she spent the next few sessions in a torpor, glassy eyed and absorbed in a manufactured reverie. 


	10. Chapter 10

Hogwarts was not the same. Not nearly. And Ginny was not enjoying it at all anymore.  
There was no more Harry, which was hard enough; there was no more Dumbledore, which was awful. Everyone was watchful, fearful. Ginny would often twitch herself out of restless dreams, covered in sweat, listening for screams that did not sound.  
There were changes, major ones. Some of them reminded her of her first year; people were made to travel in groups, led everywhere by a teacher. No one was allowed out at night, and prefect patrollers took shifts to help guard the castle each night and, consequently, prevented any sneaking out to see Hagrid. Ginny was rather angry about this, because Hagrid needed to be seen; he seemed to have lost his way, often trailing off in the middle of lectures with sudden tears welling up in his huge eyes.  
What was ruining Hogwarts the most, however, was the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.  
There was a consensus that she was good; most people liked her. Ginny liked her too, but she would have preferred if she did not involve herself in school affairs. It was embarrassing to have your teacher give you a sweater after class and remind you to eat your vegetables.  
For, of course, the new Professor was Molly Weasley.  
Mrs. Weasley had had a motherly dilemma over the summer: should she make Ginny go back to school? Part of her motherly self wanted Ginny to continue her education; the other part wanted Ginny safe, and Mrs. Weasley couldn't have been sure that her daughter was safe at Hogwarts, not now that Dumbledore had passed on.  
Mrs. Weasley also began to become frustrated, watching Arthur, Bill, Charlie, and now even Fred and George risking their lives for the Order and not being able to contribute anything of her own. Now that the Prophecy no longer needed protection, she had nothing to do, no shifts to take. She'd finally asked her husband if there was any way she could take a more active role in the Order.  
"I'll see what I can do," had been his answer. It had taken several hush-hush meetings, and a few covert trips out of Grimmauld place, but soon Arthur had informed her of a position that needed filling. McGonagall gave her the details. It was perfect; being a professor at Hogwarts would allow Ginny to continue at school while affording her the protection Mrs. Weasley had so needed for her youngest.  
So Mrs. Weasley was now Professor Weasley, and Ginny had to endure having her Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher call her "sweetie"  
She wrote the twins for Skiving Snackboxes, but they sent her a set of Patented Daydream Charms instead, with a note saying that mum knew all about the Nosebleed Nougat and Fainting Fancies, so she'd be stupid to try it. Ginny sulked all that week, refusing to touch the twins' substitute, but after a particularly painful lesson, in which Mrs. Weasley not only called her "dear," but also called her up to the board against her will to have her recite the mnemonic device used when facing an unknown magical creature (SIP--Stupefy, Impediment Jinx, Patronus), she spent the next few sessions in a torpor, glassy eyed and absorbed in a manufactured reverie. 


End file.
